


Four Times Everyone Thought Draco & Astoria Broke Their Bed Having Sex (And One Time They Did)

by truethingsproved



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (draco malfoy: pussy eating champ), (it's very light friends i could have gone on abt this but i'll save you), Cunnilingus, F/M, light BDSM themes, shameless cute ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-09 01:22:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4328415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truethingsproved/pseuds/truethingsproved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>as i'm sure some of you know, i write astoria greengrass in an indie rp (and a group rp), and when marta, my draco, sent me a message saying "Omg okay legit question how many times do you think draco&astoria broke a bed fucking" there really wasn't much else to do but write this.</p><p>many thanks to defiantcharms @ tumblr, who beta'd the first half of this for me.</p></blockquote>





	Four Times Everyone Thought Draco & Astoria Broke Their Bed Having Sex (And One Time They Did)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yallaintright](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yallaintright/gifts).



i.

The first time it happens, she’s moving in.

     And of all the things Astoria Greengrass expected to do at twenty, moving in with her boyfriend over Christmas was not one of them. Regardless, she’s pleased by the situation – while she’s pursuing  _higher education,_  and he’s working, they spend most of the year apart, and so she likes that they can take what little time they do have together to spend like this.

     There are boxes of her things, moved in from her childhood home, furniture she couldn’t live without, books she needs, more clothes than anyone could ever possibly wear, shoes galore. An entire box of stockings. She is spoiled rotten, she knows, but there’s a small, indulgent smile on Draco’s face while he watches her try to pile another box on the top of the bed, standing on her tiptoes to reach, as if he finds the entire thing to be  _endearing._  

      _(_  And that, she thinks, must mean this is True Love, because no one who didn’t love her, truly love her, could put up with seeing her take over like this.  _)_  

     After a long moment of simply watching her struggle, Draco closes the distance between them in a few long strides, reaching up to cover her hands with his to steady the box as he sets it down. Once they’ve succeeded, his arms steal around her waist from behind, and he bows his head to press his lips to the corner of her jaw.

     “Are you moving in with me,” he asks, lips moving against her skin in a way that makes her shiver, “or performing a hostile takeover?”

     “ _Cheeky_ ,” she accuses, but it’s lost on him when she tips her head back, turning to face him just enough to catch his lips with hers, as if to punish him for poking fun. And what a fantastic punishment, she thinks, as his hands find her waist, slipping under the fabric of her shirt to curl against her bare sides. He’ll  _never_  poke fun again, if this is how she responds.

     It lasts for a moment, a long, glorious moment, and Astoria notes with outright  _delight_  that he frowns when she pulls back to pile another box onto the bed, but he doesn’t complain, merely steps forward silently to help her again. Except he’s got one hand over hers, pushing the box up, and the other is pressed to her bare stomach under her shirt, sliding downward, fingers teasing at the waistband of her trousers.

     “The sooner we finish,” he points out quietly, “the sooner you can put  _your_  new bed to work,” and that’s enough to have Astoria flinging the box up and onto the bed without a care in the world for how it lands –

     – there’s a  _crash_  as the box falls, a loud  _crack_  followed by a louder  _THUD_  as the bed’s frame shudders and collapses under the weight of the boxes, of Astoria’s impatience. His hand is still half-under her waistband when their mothers come into the bedroom to see what all the noise is about, to make sure no one’s hurt. Even though he withdraws his hand immediately, and Astoria practically trips over herself trying to explain, nothing they say can convince Narcissa of the truth.

     She shouldn’t be amused, she knows, but when she catches a glimpse of Draco from the corner of her eye, his lips pressed together in a thin line but his shoulders shaking and his eyes bright with mirth, she can’t help but burst into loud, hiccuping laughter.

      _(_  Narcissa is not amused.  _)_  

 

 

ii.

The second time it happens, they’re babysitting Teddy.

     There are a few things no one tells you about when you’re looking after a very small, very enthusiastic child for the first time. For starters, a five-year-old is a five-year-old no matter the prestige of his parentage, and when a five-year-old demands that you let him jump on your bed, chances are, that child is going to jump on your bed.

     It’s to be expected, really – it’s a great bed. Astoria’s favorite, in fact. She’s honestly pretty grateful that they broke the last one, because this one is so great; the mattress, especially, feels like sleeping on a cloud, and Astoria is a spoiled brat, but she’s the most spoiled when it comes to where she sleeps. She’s got the best company anyone could ask for, and now, she’s got the best place to do it.

     But that’s exactly why she  _doesn’t_  want Teddy getting his tiny little feet all over her perfect bed, jumping on it, potentially making it less  _bouncy_ , because she is spoiled but also extraordinarily selfish.  _(_  Also, that’s not safe.  _)_  She tackles Teddy twice before Draco’s even finished getting Teddy’s lunch together, throws him over her shoulder to carry out of their bedroom, and maybe that’s why he keeps running back in there to throw himself as heavily as he can onto the bed – because he has  _fun_  watching a grown woman flailing and flinging herself across the room, only to carry him upside-down out the door.

     This, Astoria thinks, is the last time she agrees to watch Teddy while Andromeda’s off visiting her mother-in-law for the weekend, not until she learns a better locking charm to keep him out of her bedroom. It takes them an hour and a half to put him down for his nap, but once they’ve succeeded, Draco and Astoria exchange a tired attempt at encouragement – a nod from Draco, a thumbs-up from Astoria, both of which are answered with merely a grunt from the other.

      _Take advantage of whatever time you have to sleep,_  Andromeda had warned, and so Astoria tucks herself into Draco’s side, slinging an arm around his waist and yawning. “We should nap, too.”

     “Probably.”

     “Race you?”

     “ _Hah,_  you’re so funny.”

     He presses a kiss to her temple all the same, winding his arm around her shoulders as they make their way back to their bedroom. Neither bothers to shut the door behind them – and why should they? The only other person there is asleep. With a groan, Draco falls back against the bed, arms spread at his sides, and Astoria follows suit, throwing herself beside him dramatically and burrowing against his side. Their eyes close, and Draco leans over to press a quick kiss to her lips, perhaps to offer some sarcastic commentary on babysitting, and everything, for the moment, is fine, totally fine.

     Until they’re suddenly a foot lower than they were moments before, the mattress having fallen through to the floor, the bedframe’s beams knocked out of place by Teddy’s jumping and Astoria’s leaping. Stunned, neither moves for a moment, until Draco and Astoria hear a loud and scandalized child’s gasp from the door frame, and there’s Teddy, staring at the both of them, pointing accusingly.

     “Draco an’ Stori got on the bed an’ broke it,” he informs his nan helpfully the next morning when she comes to pick him up, and the glare that Andromeda shoots them is something else entirely.

 

iii.

The third time it happens, it’s really not their fault.

     The cat has decided that she wants to be as tall as possible -- which means that she’s standing on the top of the tallest bookcase in their bedroom. It’s filled with medical books, heavy ones, the kind that could break a person if they were to all come tumbling down. Which is why Astoria, still wearing only the tank top and underwear she’d slept in, has dragged a chair over and is perching precariously on the arm of the chair, trying to reach the cat, who’s suddenly gone skittish.

     She howls, and Astoria freezes, certain that the cat is going to leap and knock the entire bookcase over and destroy everything in the room. The books are beautiful, a collection that Astoria would hate to have to replace -- gifts and collectibles and some that have seen her through years of study. And the  _cat_  would be hurt, too, and as much as Draco and Astoria can go to war with the beast, they love her. Astoria’s hands shoot out, as if to catch the cat before she can go flying.

     Astoria and the cat both nearly topple over with surprise when they hear the door open, and Draco’s loud cursing is enough to practically make Astoria jump out of her skin. “What the hell are you  _doing?”_  he demands, and Astoria points at the cat, as if that should be answer enough.

     “Estella  _jumped_ ,” she insists with wide eyes, and Draco covers his face with both hands and lets out a long, exhausted sigh, shoulders heaving as he does. For a moment, Astoria wonders if he regrets that his taste in women has led him to love a blonde-haired menace small enough to fit in his back pocket and whose brilliant ideas include a massive bookcase filled to the brim with the heaviest books she owns, which they keep in the bedroom, and a cat who likes to climb things and then gets nervous about climbing down.

     After a long moment, Draco lowers his hands and sighs again. “Get down before you  kill yourself,” he insists. Astoria looks at his hand, then back at Estella, and this time she  _does_  start to fall over from surprise when she hears the front door open and her sister’s voice shouting a greeting, and that’s the moment that Estella absolutely loses whatever cool she had left and flings herself off of the bookcase. At once, Draco has slung an arm around Astoria’s waist and pulled her out of the way, the both of them tumbling to the floor as the bookcase comes crashing down, books flying everywhere, the bookcase itself falling and landing right in the center of their bed.

     There’s a loud  _crack_  of wood as the bed’s frame breaks under the weight of the bookcase and its fall, and there are books  _everywhere,_  and the cat is running out the door and Daphne is running  _into_  the room to stare at the damage, at a half-naked Astoria pinned underneath Draco -- who, in a bout of heroism, is holding her underneath him as if to shield her.

     The Greengrass sisters look at one another in silence for a long moment before Daphne simply turns and walks back out of the bedroom -- Draco lets out a shaky sigh, tucking his face against Astoria’s neck while the latter all but _shrieks_ with laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

 

iv.

The fourth time, that’s almost what happens.

     Astoria falls back on the bed, exhausted, laughing, every muscle in her body aching and her throat hoarse. After a moment, Draco falls back beside her -- the two turn their heads to look at one another for a moment in silence, eyes wide, before they dissolve into helpless laughter. Astoria loves the sound of it -- Draco laughing, deep and rich and always unexpected, sounding almost out of place. He’s still so young -- they both are. It’s hard to remember when they’re trying to survive the aftermath of a war but it’s easy to remember right now.

     “That was -- ”

     “ _Impossible._  I told you we should have hired someone.”

     Astoria only looks back up at the ceiling and laughs. They’d ordered a new bed, picked one out after days of painstaking examination, looking around to find something sturdy, something perfect. And the bed had been delivered while they were out -- left two floors below their penthouse, signed for by the doorman. And they had stood there and stared at it for a long moment before Astoria had rolled her sleeves up and insisted that they could carry it up the stairs.

     Two more flights of stairs; certainly that was doable. But Astoria’s arms and back hurt more than she can say and even Draco, a foot taller and significantly stronger, looks drained, drenched in sweat and exhausted. They’d crashed into a few walls, nearly taken the leg of the bed off trying to get through the bedroom’s door. Then they’d had to move the mattress, get the bed set up in their room right where they wanted it... Her lungs are on fire, and her limbs are shaky, but that’s not enough to stop Astoria from rolling onto her side to prop herself up on her elbow and look at him her expression outright adoring.

     “You indulged me. That was sweet.”

     He turns his head to the side again, looking back up at her. “I probably shouldn’t have,” he retorts breathlessly. “I’m exhausted. You’re the worst. I’m leaving you for a Weasley.”

     She lets out a burst of laughter, silenced only when he surges up to kiss her -- and this must be real, this must be true, if he responds to her laughter by kissing her, by pulling her as close as he can. Astoria breaks the kiss only long enough to shift again, straddling his hips as she pulls her shirt away and tosses it aside. His lips meet hers again hungrily, unyielding and demanding, his hands roaming over every inch of bared skin and quickly moving to bare more.

     “The worst,” he breathes when they pull back from one another, only long enough to catch their breath. She sits up, and he sits up with her, arms wrapped around her, moving only so that she can pull his shirt off as well. “The absolute worst.”

     “Let’s -- let’s  _shower_ ,” she suggests, each word a desperate gasp for air. “Quick shower, to get refreshed -- then we’re breaking this in.”

     Draco groans, falling back on the bed again, and he’s about to nod when Astoria lets out a small scream of surprise as the leg of the bed that had crashed into their wall snaps at the force of Draco falling back, crashing with a  _thud_  and tipping them down on one side -- they both start to slide off the bed, only barely catching themselves before they tumble to the floor.

     By the time they realize what’s happened they’ve both reached the same conclusion -- that the floor is as good a place as any -- and Astoria’s trousers nearly go flying out the window when Draco peels them off and throws them aside.

 

v. 

They’ve rented a room -- they’re in desperate need of a break from the beds that never seem to last, from having to clean up the messes, from having to figure out where things go while they try and fix whatever damage the latest furniture disaster has caused. It’s why Astoria’s been lounging on a white duvet wearing nothing but a towel, flicking through the day’s Prophet while Draco brushes his teeth in the adjoining bathroom.

     “Says here that Minister Shacklebolt is going to be visiting Italy,” she muses, flipping another page, and Draco comes out to stand in the doorway, leaning against the wooden frame to watch her. His eyes land on her bare legs, and she grins, pointing her toes at him before returning her attention to the Prophet. He vanishes back into the bathroom briefly, and when he returns, his toothbrush is gone, and he’s wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

     “I don’t really care about Minister Shacklebolt, to be honest,” he says, taking a step towards her in a manner that’s almost predatory. It sends a shiver down Astoria’s spine, toes curling in pleasure at the sight of him; he lifts one of her feet when he arrives at the bed, bows his head to press a kiss to her ankle. “You look nice today.”

     “Yeah, I showered. I hear that’s good for you.”

     “You also forgot to get dressed.” Draco reaches forward to lift her other foot as well, stroking her ankles with clever fingers, considering. “I like that, too. I like that rather a lot.”

     “Oh yeah?” asks Astoria, sounding half her age, and she swallows, hard. They’ve done this more times than she can count but she always feels decidedly less  _cool_  when he’s like this and she’s tittering and fluttering and blushing all over the place. Even now, she can feel her cheeks burning with a flush that’s spread up her neck. She needs to act her age. It’s why she clears her throat, looks at him combatively, and retorts, “Well, then, what are you going to do about it?”

     The grin that stretches across his face is  _wicked,_  and he tugs her forward. Once she’s been pulled to the edge of the bed, he reaches down only long enough to tug her towel away and throw it aside, and then, without preamble, he presses his lips to the side of her neck, lowering himself to his knees as he moves further down, leaving bright red marks on her skin from the ministrations of teeth and tongue. When he spreads her legs it’s all she can do not to grab him by the hair, shove his head down -- but he does that himself soon enough, lifting a hand to slide his fingers inside of her tortuously slowly, tongue moving over her clitoris.

     And this, Astoria thinks, in the last coherent part of her mind, with his face and fingers buried in her cunt and her legs trembling, this might actually be her favorite place to be, and she’s stopped being sorry about the amount of furniture that’s been broken in the past few months in favor of wrapping her fingers in his hair and rolling her hips up to meet his mouth.

     He pulls back before she’s come, leaving her whining and half-desperate, begging and blaspheming while he stands up and undoes his belt. She sits up to help him, throwing the belt aside and tipping her head back to kiss him soundly -- he pushes her back down to the bed and she’s practically  _singing_  while he pulls his shirt off and throws it onto the bed behind her, letting his trousers fall around his ankles before he steps out of them, toeing out of his socks, pushing his underwear aside.

     One minute there’s a chance Astoria can regain any sense of dignity and the next she’s outright keening while he fucks her, pinning her wrists against her chest with one hand. He wets the fingers of his other hand in his mouth before letting his hand fall between her legs again, setting an almost vicious pace with his fingers against her clitoris that he matches with his hips, fucking up and into her as hard as he can while she begs and sings around him,  _please please please oh_ god _please don’t stop --_

     -- they hear a creak; they think nothing of it. The bed is moving with them -- Draco is stabilized by his feet on the floor, and Astoria is stabilized by her legs around his waist, but they feel the bed moving with them, creaking with every thrust forward. It doesn’t slow them down; perhaps it should, but she begs so nicely, and he’s never been able to say no to a pretty girl begging him to fuck her harder. “More?” he asks, and she nods -- he releases her wrists in favor of curling his hand lightly against her throat, while her hands curl around his arm. She’s desperate for contact,  _please please don’t stop please don’t ever stop oh my god._

     The creaks get louder -- so does Astoria. Their neighbor is pounding on the wall but neither of them care. Her world has shrunk down to him, and what he’s doing, and his world has dissolved around him and the only thing that matters is her underneath him, and if this is what morning sex can be like he really should consider waking up earlier.

     There’s a loud snap _,_  and Astoria lets out a shout that’s half-surprise, half pleasure, that morphs into a loud groan part of the way through. But nothing’s happened, not yet, except that Astoria is coming, loud and reckless around him, and he’s close behind her -- he collapses on top of her, spent, releasing her throat, his other hand trapped between them.

     Another snap and they’re falling, crashing to the ground.

     The neighbor stops pounding on their wall in favor of shouting,  _You alright?_  sounding awkward and uncomfortable and very much like he wishes he’d stayed somewhere else, somewhere far away.

     Draco looks down at Astoria -- Astoria looks up at Draco, practically wheezing with laughter, arms sliding around him to pull him closer, as close as possible. They’re wrapped in bathrobes by the time the staff comes up to their room, alerted to a  _potential disturbance_  by the unanswered neighbor, and one of the two women at their door peers around them to look at the damage that’s been done. The bottom legs of the bed have snapped, folded over to the side, and her eyes widen before she turns to look at Draco and Astoria in disbelief.

      _(_ Astoria doesn’t stop laughing until long after they’re gone. _)_

**Author's Note:**

> as i'm sure some of you know, i write astoria greengrass in an indie rp (and a group rp), and when marta, my draco, sent me a message saying "Omg okay legit question how many times do you think draco&astoria broke a bed fucking" there really wasn't much else to do but write this.
> 
> many thanks to defiantcharms @ tumblr, who beta'd the first half of this for me.


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